Breathe
by stayneurotic
Summary: A collection of memories.


[[ A/N: I wrote this with two specific couples in mind. The inspiration came from one, but I wrote it with the other mostly in mind. Ambiguous, but for the purposes of the fanfic, originally intended Yami Marik x Yami Bakura.  
Written with the song "Glass Vase Cello Case" by Tattle Tale on repeat. ]]

* * *

It is a cold December morning.

The snow crunches under our feet and the air stings our throats when we laugh, but we laugh anyway. The cold warrants gloves, but we cannot hold hands properly when we wear them, so we left them on the kitchen counter when we left.

The sky is bright but your eyes are brighter. Snowflakes drift down and fall gently on our shoulders, but as gentle as they are, the backs of your fingertips against my cheek are gentler. And even our long coats and colorful scarves do not keep us as warm as our hands are when our fingers entwine and squeeze.

You mention something about hot cocoa and fireplaces. I shake my head and complain, only half-jokingly, that we haven't even made snow angels yet. But what I mean is, as long as I can look into your eyes, I feel warm inside and out. Who needs hot cocoa.

* * *

It is sunset after a long day.

We were more productive than usual, and the long hours of work have worn us. Our feet and backs ache and the climb up to the roof is not an easy one, but we make it anyway. The throbbing fades as if washed away by water when I slip into your arms, so it doesn't really matter in the end, I guess. The dreary sky, probably as tired as we, has lit up for one last show and gifts us with beautiful blooms of deep pink and citrus orange, brightest in the east and fading quickly, while cold hues of blue and violet creep in from the opposite horizon like a blanket, promising the world a peaceful night's sleep and tucking it quietly and quickly in. We sit beneath the fading colors until the last dregs of magenta bleed out, on top of the world.

It is beautiful, but I would rather stare into your eyes than at it.

* * *

It is a warm spring afternoon.

We decided to spend the day out. Morning saw us – shopping, at a movie, it doesn't really matter so long as you were there to enjoy it with me. Now we sit back against the smooth and polished wood of a park bench, taking a breather. Sidewalk beneath our feet. There are dozens of people there. Children playing, parents chatting. Across from us a group of teens pass around a pack of cigarettes. The laughter of children, a sound I've always found rather sickening, fades into the distance. You can't stop staring at the grass – you're amazed how lush it looks. So green. I simply laugh and lean back, tilting my head up to take in the warmth of the sun on my face. Eyes closed, I do not see you lean in to kiss me, and suddenly there's no grass, no bench, no laughter.

Just you and me and the rays of the sun, making me see red behind my eyelids.

* * *

It is early morning. Too early.

The curtains do not keep out the cruel grey softness of sun's first light well enough. I sit up in bed, half-naked and half-awake, rubbing my face as my mind fumbles around for consciousness like we fumble for clothes in the darkness.

The reason why I am awake at this godawful hour occurs to me, finally, and my hand falls from my face to support me. You can see the dread clear in my eyes, and pause in your last-minute packing to lean over and kiss my cheek. When you pull away, my skin burns.

We said our goodbyes the night before, because you knew I would be in no state to do so now. But I made you wake me up anyway, because I can't stand waking up alone. But as I sit here and watch you run around for toothbrushes and neckties, I feel alone, anyway.

A final check ensures you have everything you need (except me). You pick up your suitcase and stare me down. You're running late, and I don't have enough time.

"Goodbye, you bastard," I manage.

"I love you. Try not to miss me too much."

And then you're gone, and I miss you already.

* * *

It is late night. Or perhaps early morning - time loses meaning here and I forget.

No light filters in from the blinds and no glowing clocks or lamps lead our way. It is pitch black. I cannot even make out the vague shape of your body in the shadows. But times like this, we don't need our eyes to see, anyway.

We touch. You kiss me and I hold tighter. Your hands through my hair melt me and I give in. I cannot see you, but I can feel you. Every inch of you, and I mean that in the most non-sexual way possible. We are as close as it is possible to be, and in the most intimate way there is. We are one.

In the final throes of ecstasy our bodies rack together and my head swims because it is full of love, and love is liquid and runny – like having water in your ears. It makes everything slow and kind of funny. It makes the few moments we have (as we lie tangled up in the sheets and each other) before we drift off to sleep feel like an eternity. And in that eternity there is time to think every single thought in the whole entire world, and yet the only thing that runs through my mind when I stare into the darkness where your eyes should be, are those three words I know I have no need to voice. Because you know, and always will.

* * *

Just close your eyes and take a breath.


End file.
